Hal

It all started when he would appear on lonely and rainy Saturday afternoons, emerging from the shadows of Chloe's living room/kitchen (she refused to turn on lights in the daytime). His name was Hal. He would come and sit next to her on her couch and listen to what she had to say about things. And they were nice, these visits. Because she could tell him anything and he would listen.
Then, Hal began accompanying her on random errands. He would appear on a subway platform and talk to her about music, about Nick Drake and forgotten songs. Then, conveniently, he would disappear when she couldn't pay attention to him, like when she was shopping for fruit at the market, for instance (it took some concentration to find untouched cherries on Grand Street at the end of the day).
Later, at home again, he would reappear, assuring and dependable, even when they had nothing to say to each other; keeping each other company in that full and satisfying silence that only kindred spirits can share.

marionette

Most days, now more than ever, she felt herself hovering over her marionette likeness. In her own sky of illustrious cloud and cerebral sun, she pulled this or that string with her eyes closed, her doppelganger interacting in perfect symbiosis, because she knew the choreography and the story so well. And it was a perfect decoy; she fooled everyone, not excluding herself.

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/symbiosis

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marionette

sea and shore

Flushed cheeks and unbridled joy. She remembered those few hours in soft, undulating waves, washing warm over her at the edge of an isolated shore. Memories of the still shadows of a Sunday night, of pulsing conversation and blood, flooded the empty conch shell of her soul and washed her back out to her sea.

the tortoise shell

Among the strewn and broken crates and watery fish waste, Chloe ambled on through the darkness that had descended upon Grand Street. She remembered the story about the tortoise who happened to lose its shell and who then, after many moons, happily found it again. Through the red door and into the cement-paved courtyard behind her building, up the steep stairwell, she finally returned to her own shell. Within its walls, alone, stuffing the socks she never wore in the bottom drawer, just like before, and her toothbrush on the second level in the bathroom cabinet, she let her mind wander on through the mists of her memory of childhood. How the mangoes dropped like snowballs onto the roof of their house on Pinta Court. The great banyan trees and the way they swayed before a storm, rustling. She had come home.

the apartment

It went without saying. It was like saying she wanted to find happiness or enlightenment. Or like saying she wanted to live in that top floor Apartment with the roof of skylights at the triangular corner where Division Street meets Canal Street. Of course, who wouldn't? She had admired It from afar, from as close as she could get, on the sidewalk below, always peering into those plentiful windows facing Ludlow Street.
Perhaps not everyone would want that Apartment, thought Chloe. Though it took up the entire top floor, it was small, inside an edifice with a crumbling facade and a forever-shuttered storefront on the bottom. But that was what made it special. So unusual, so mysterious, so quiet, so thoughtful, so perfect. Whenever she walked within sight of the red triangular building, even from Essex Street, The Apartment sang to her, to the world. She imagined herself living there, knowing precisely where she would put her piano (by the East-facing window). She imagined sleeping there, with the peaceful sunlight wrapping its arms around her in late afternoon slumber. She thought of all the happiness that apartment could have shown her, or perhaps could still show her.
But then all of sudden, she hated The Apartment's guts. How dare it stand there, appearing at least two days a week, tall and aloof and handsome. Singing songs and living its own exciting life. Offering glimpses through its windows, tales of happiness and of the young love for which she longed, tales being lived by another who was not her and who would never be her.

misspellings

Clicking with her mouse on "Inbox (1)," Chloe discovered she had received an Email from her friend Tori. Nestled in among several paragraphs detailing the current state of affairs in Tori's life, in the paragraph recapping her conversation with her delinquent boyfriend, a particular phrase stood out: "your lacking common cents." Spelled just like that.
Now, Chloe loved her friend Tori dearly, but this slight misstep (not one, but two misspellings in the same phrase!) on Tori's part, unbeknownst to her, had large ramifications for Chloe.
You see, Chloe possesses a severe aversion to people who cannot spell, or rather, who don't spell. Was it laziness? Ignorance? Spite? A cruel joke? At any rate, Chloe is capable of becoming repulsed by even the slightest of absent apostrophes. First she cringes, then shudders, then re-reads the offense over again to be sure her dear friend didn't surely mean something else. But always, upon further examination, her fears are confirmed.
At this point, Chloe couldn't bear to read one more word of Tori's Email. It was tainted. Chloe signed out of her her Email account and didn't see her friend Tori for 4 1/2 weeks after that.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homophone

http://www.yourdictionary.com/library/misspelled.html

a wind of change

Like a wind that blows suddenly from a new direction, gently yet with great confidence, she felt a change sweep over her, through her. Chloe had overslept that morning, waking from a deep slumber just a few hours ago, with the sun already high in the sky and the people already having begun their days, in an event highly uncharacteristic of her usual early morning routine. And perhaps that was just it, she thought; the reason for the change, that is. Though she generally found much comfort in routine, it being a sure, dependable friend in life, she had begun to realize that her good friend might well be a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Today, having broken free from ritual, she felt suddenly clear-headed. Her energy was endless and her appetite for food minimal. In the bright, cool sun of her lunch hour, life itself felt suddenly different. Perhaps it was just for today. Or perhaps the new wind will continue to blow.